


What Tomorrow Brings

by jagnikjen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 18:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2702630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jagnikjen/pseuds/jagnikjen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione must learn to navigate life after Ron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m sorry, Hermione…I don’t know where we went wrong, but I can’t do it anymore.”

Hermione stared at Ron. What was he saying? She blinked as his meaning crystallized in her brain.

As if a potion had gone awry, her stomach roiled and frothed, and she swallowed against the urge to vomit.

She opened her mouth to speak, but pressed a fist to her mouth instead. What was there to say? He was right. It was no one’s fault. They’d tried more time together, less time together, date nights, more sex, less sex, and marriage counseling, but continued to grow farther apart. He was unhappy, she was miserable.

She hated failure, but had to admit relief that he’d done what she’d been too terrified to do. He’d called an end to their marriage. Relief didn’t make it hurt any less. A giant fist gripped her heart and squeezed, making breathing difficult.

“You can have the flat. George has room above the shop. I’ll be staying with him.”

Ron rose and raked a hand through his shaggy hair. He needed a haircut. Would he remember to get one without her prodding? Did it really matter?

Hermione stood as well. “I…all right.”

“I’m just gonna pack some stuff…” He lifted an arm in the direction of their bedroom and then walked into it.

She went to the kitchen and stared out the window and listened to the sounds of her marriage ending. The slide of the bureau drawers, the faint squeal of the wardrobe door, the clatter of his toiletries being gathered up and then dumped in his carry all. And then silence.

“Hermione?” he said.

She didn’t reply, but she heard his bag hit the floor and the squeak of his trainers across the lino.

He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I love you, Hermione. Always will, but we both deserve to be happy and we’re not.”

Burning prickles forced her eyes shut. She slumped against him and choked out a sob, clutching the strong arms that would never hold her again. “Oh, God, Ron. I’m so s-s-sorry.”

Ron held her and let her cry. He’d been surprisingly good at that. “It’s going to be all right eventually. You’ll see.”

Hermione sniffed and turned in his arms. She hugged him for what seemed like hours. It was all well and good make the decision. Executing wasn’t so easy. Finally, she stepped away and ineffectually wiped the tears from her face. Moisture continued to trickle from the corners of her eyes.

Their gazes held for a several moments and Ron had the wherewithal to take a step back. His eyes looked suspiciously moist.

“Right.” It came out a bit higher pitched than normal. He swallowed. “I’ll see you around then.” Picking up his bag, he was gone, the soft snick of the front door echoing in the silence.

~*~*~

Hermione brushed her teeth and hair and dug around in her drawer for the gown Ron liked so much. She always wore it his first night back. He’d been on a mission for four days, and he was rarely, if ever, gone longer than that. Harry always let her know if that was the case.

The gown dropped over her head and she scanned the dresser for her favorite perfume. The lack of Ron’s deodorant and cologne bottles hit her like a cauldron alongside the head and she burst into tears. She sat on the end of their bed—her bed now—and buried her face in her hands.

Ron wasn’t coming back.

What was she supposed to do now?

She’d been part of the trio or a couple since she’d been twelve.

Harry had Ginny and the Weasleys.

Ron had the Weasleys and Harry.

What did she have?

Nothing but a gaping hole in her life where her friends and extended family used to be. She didn’t even have her own parents anymore.

What had she done?

She flopped backwards and let the tears fall. A steady stream of moisture flowed into her hair. She cried for Ron, but mostly for herself. She felt as if she’d lost the only family she had left. Her best friend was her ex’s sister. How exactly was that supposed to work?

She’d had an owl from Harry and Ginny shortly after Ron left saying they loved her and were there if she needed them. So they knew, as did, Hermione was sure, the rest of the Weasleys. Ron would never blame her and eventually she’d be able to face them all, but would those bonds ever be the same?

She cried harder.

She cried herself to sleep.

~*~

Hermione awoke on top of the covers with a shaft of sunlight slanting across the room, blinding her.

What time was it?

Oh no. She was late.

Hermione flew off the bed and pulled her work clothes on. She yanked a brush through her hair and twisted it up. After brushing her teeth, she grabbed her handbag and practically dove into the floo.

She stumbled into the Ministry atrium and bumped into someone.

“Pardon me,” she said absently before hurrying toward the lifts.

“Well, Granger,” called a loud and familiar voice, “I’d say it’s nice to see—”

She spun around and narrowed her eyes at Draco soddin’ Malfoy. “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Weas—”

She slapped a hand over her mouth. But how much longer would she actually be a Weasley? Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to give into them. Especially in front of this git.

One of Malfoy’s brows rose over his glittering gray eyes, but the sneer she expected didn’t materialize. Instead, his gaze softened slightly and curiosity smoothed out his features. “Are you all right?”

“Don’t. Just don’t—” She pointed at him.

“Don’t what?” His left brow arched.

“Don’t be nice. I can’t take that from you.”

He canted his head. “Granger—” His voice had taken on that haughty tone again. “—what are you doing here on a Saturday?”

Hermione’s gaze darted around the atrium and she saw that, aside from the two of them and a handful of others, the space was empty. During the week, the place bustled with all manner of magical folk. Heat rushed up her face.

“Oh, bloody fucking hell,” she said, though not loud enough to carry. Was she really so out of it that she’d forgotten it was Saturday?

Well, here she stood.

Draco’s murmured, “Such language, Granger,” brought her attention back to him.

Just what she didn’t need—to make a fool of herself in front of Draco Malfoy.

Save it, Hermione, save it.

She lifted her chin. “I have a report due Monday and I left the file on my desk. If you’ll excuse me.”

She headed for the lifts and didn’t look back.

~*~*~

Draco watched Hermione’s mad dash for the lifts. He didn’t believe her story for one moment. Too many things didn’t add up. First of all, she was way too organized and anal to have either forgotten a file folder or to not have finished her report. Second, her language. Granger hardly ever used profanity. She only let her mouth run away with her when her emotions got the better of her. Third, she hadn’t even questioned why he was at the Ministry at all. Fourth, her general air of discomfiture said a lot. And lastly, her cut off rant about her surname. They’d traded the same lines for years. Her sudden stop mid-Weasel meant only one thing.


	2. Chapter 2

The previous week passed in relative normalcy. Despite the both of them working in the Ministry, their schedules had always differed and they rarely arrived or left at the same time. No one knew she and Ron had been separated for two weeks now.

The evenings, however, had yawned in front of her and she’d worked late every night, catching up on paperwork that had no urgency what-so-ever, instead of facing a lonely flat. But today was Friday and staying late would have looked suspicious, so she’d left at a normal-for-her time, grabbed take away—enough for two—and found a Dr. Who marathon on the telly.

Saturday was spent cleaning the flat, setting a few of Ron’s things into a box, and doing the shopping. More normal, except packing up Ron’s things, in the midst of abnormalcy. That night, she picked at a ready meal and read The Scottish Prisoner by Diana Gabaldon with rugby playing on the telly for background noise.

Except for the lack of a large reddish body in the over-stuffed armchair, she could almost forget.

Tapping at the sitting room window drew her gaze. A small owl sat on the perch Ron’d installed when they’d first moved in. She pushed open the window and exchanged the small scroll for an owl treat. “One moment, please,” she said. The creature bobbed its head in acknowledgment.

Harry suggested we make a joint statement to the Prophet. Control the story, as it were. I think it’s a smart move. What do you think? Ron

Hermione’s shoulders slumped. Why had she not thought of this herself? It was a smart move. Her not thinking of it meant Ron’s leaving had hit her harder than she would have expected, considering the state of their marriage.

“I’m sending a return message,” Hermione said to the owl and handed him another treat. “I won’t be a moment.”

On an identical tiny roll of parchment, she wrote, Good idea. How does tomorrow 8am sound? We can headline Sunday evening’s edition. Hr.

She was tired of the secret. The next stage of her life, which probably meant a trip to a solicitor’s office, needed to happen. She couldn’t live in this in-between stage forever.

She tied the scroll to the owl’s leg and dropped a sickle into the small pouch attached to the other. “Ta.”

The owl issued a low hoot and took off.

~*~*~

Draco set his feet on the ottoman and blew across the steaming mug of Earl Grey before setting it on the small round table next to his chair. He snapped open the Sunday Prophet and perused the headline—G. Weasley Signs for Three More Years. Not a big surprise there. Mrs. Harry Potter was at the top of her game. As long as she didn’t end up pregnant, which he fully expected her to do, she had an excellent chance at being named captain of the Harpies. Good thing her husband had decided to become an auror. Her quidditch skills far surpassed his. Would have been tough on the marriage, Draco imagined, but amusing for the rest of the wizarding world to watch.

He reached for his tea and sipped as he scanned the rest of the front page. Nothing of interest, to him at least.

Wait—what?

_The Ron Weasleys to Split_

_By Romilda Vane_

Draco’s mug thudded to the table and he sat up. He’d been right, but the knowledge brought him no satisfaction.

_In a joint statement, Ron and Hermione Weasley (nee Granger) have told this reporter that after seven years and three months of marriage, they have decided to divorce. The pair said that they make better friends than spouses and will remain amicable. The couple has no children._

_The Weasleys ask that their privacy be respected and that no further inquiries be made._

Yeah, that was likely. Two members of the Golden Trio divorcing each other. That would have probably sold more papers had the Prophet run that banner up top.

So the weasel and Granger were divorcing. They’d always seemed happy, always publicly supported one another, and never looked crossways at each other. Unlike the Potters, who’d had several public rows over the years. The weaselette had always been a hot head. Draco almost felt sorry for Potter. Almost. But the idiot had to have known what he was getting into.

The Potters’ marriage, however, was of little interest. The Weasleys’ on the other hand, well he didn’t care about their marriage so much as their impending lack of one.

Hermione Granger intrigued him, challenged him. She was his intellectual equal—perhaps the disparity in her and the weasel’s intelligence had been a contributing factor? The two years Draco and Hermione had worked together had raised his game. They’d traded barbs, witticisms, and trivia. She’d buffed his sharp edges. She kept him on his toes and humbled him as well. And didn’t that take some getting used to?

Somewhere along the way, though, he’d fallen in love with her. The realization had shocked him and not in a good way. He’d fought it for a while, but finally realized his feelings for her weren’t going away any time soon. He’d been tempted to pursue her at one point, but she’d have hated him for it. Nor did the Malfoy name need any more black marks. So he’d basked in her acquaintanceship, enjoyed their co-worker status, and mourned her loss when she transferred to another department in the Ministry. He’d quit a short time later and had gone on to teach Potions at Hogwarts.

But now…

How long did one wait to ask out a divorcee?

Would sending a missive be inappropriate?

Did he even stand a chance?


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione whirled into her flat, dropped her hand bag and briefcase, and collapsed onto the sofa. She mentally perused the fridge and the cupboards for wine. There was a bottle somewhere. She wasn’t much of a drinker and rarely used alcohol to deal with life, but the preceding week had been hell. The curious and knowing looks raised Hermione’s hackles. Her and Ron’s separation wasn’t anyone’s business and those nosy parkers knew nothing. She didn’t even know anything, really. How in the wizarding world could they?  
  
She’d gritted her teeth and kept her head down all week, fending off random inquiries from people she barely knew with ‘can’t talk now’ or ‘late for a meeting’. She should have told them politely to bog off. Next week, she would.  
  
Much as she loved her job, she’d never been so glad for the weekend. Of course, now she had to face her lonely flat again. Tomorrow, Ron was coming by to collect more of his things. The box she’d started was almost full. They still had to divide up their belongings—household items, ornaments, photos… She didn’t want to deal with any of it, despite her bravado last week in agreeing to announcing their decision in the Prophet. What had she been thinking?  
  
No, no…it was a good thing. She knew it in her head, but her heart? The rejection was still too close to the surface.  
  
Perhaps they could put all their stuff in storage and deal with each item on a case by case basis. If one or the other of them needed something, they could just go fetch it with a quick ‘I’d like to get waffle iron if you don’t mind.’ or ‘Do you mind if I take the afghan Great Aunt Mildred crocheted for us?’  
  
To be honest, there wasn’t much she really wanted. Her books of course, her personal items, a few photos, and a few ornaments. She supposed the kitchen items, but the furniture had been cast offs and they’d never gotten round to buying new.  
  
The tapping at the window caught her attention and she groaned. What did Ron want now? She was weary of his missives. They were supposed to be separated, dammit, and she was supposed to be dealing with that. But she’d received more notes from him in the last three weeks than she had—  
  
Her eyes widened as recognition hit her.  
  
Pyxis.  
  
He belonged to— A huff escaped her lips. What could Malfoy, of all people, possibly want?  
  
She’d had so many owls of late, replenishment of owl treats was definitely in order. She handed one to the owl and gently removed the tiny scroll.  
  
 _Going into muggle London tomorrow. Could use your presence._  
 _DM_  
  
Her first instinct was to refuse, but something stopped her. Draco in muggle London could be amusing. And Hermione in muggle London meant she could get out of meeting with Ron.  
  
She dashed off an acceptance. She’d leave a note for Ron tomorrow.  
  
And she refused to feel the least bit guilty. She had a right to a life now, didn’t she? It was Ron who’d ended their marriage. Ron who’d said they both deserved some happiness.  
  
Of course, an outing with Malfoy meant…what exactly? It meant nothing. It wasn’t a date. He needed her help navigating a world he knew little of.  
  
How was it that she dreaded spending a few hours with Malfoy less than she dreaded dealing with the last vestiges of her marriage?  
  
What did that mean?  
  
Where was that wine?  
  
~*~*~  
  
Draco waited inside the large commercial muggle bookshop next to the Leaky sipping something called a caramel macchiato. He’d had no idea what it was when he’d ordered it, but it sounded interesting. He glanced at his watch. Hermione’s acceptance of his invitation had actually surprised him. No matter her reason, he couldn’t deny how pleased he was. So now he waited.  
  
Not a moment later, a familiar figure, dressed reminiscently of their Hogwarts days, passed the window. The bell over the door rang and Hermione glanced around.  
  
He lifted a hand and stood.  
  
Her eyes went large as galleons. “Wow…”  
  
He’d dressed for their excursion in the snug fitting denim trousers muggles loved so much. The light blue button down shirt hung outside his waistband and the sleeves were rolled up. It brought out the color of his eyes, according to the shop girl. Girls liked that, apparently, and was the only reason he’d agreed to the purchase. Anything that might induce Hermione to look favorably upon him—anything within reason, of course.  
  
Personally, he preferred the looser, tailored look of slacks or suit trousers, but when in Rome and all that.  
  
“Malfoy, you look very…muggle.”  
  
On the surface, her comment said nothing more than that he’d chosen his clothing appropriately. The expression in her eyes said something else. Something he was pleased to hear. “Thanks, Granger. By the way…” He held up the paper cup. “…have you ever tried one of these? They’re quite good.”  
  
She glanced at the cup and nodded. “Yes, of course. So…what’s the first stop?”  
  
“A chemist, I believe they’re called. I want to see what types of potions and medicines and other things muggles use. See if there’s anything we don’t have and try to replicate it in a more…ah…natural way.  
  
“After that, a book shop. Not one of these types,” he said at her raised brow. “A collector’s shop, one with old books. The muggle studies professor gave me a list.”  
  
Draco bit the inside of his lip to keep from grinning at the pure delight that lit up Hermione’s face. “Shall we?”


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione collapsed on the sofa with a stupid grin on her face. The day had been—surprisingly—fun. Draco pulled off muggle casual with a comfortable confidence she knew he didn’t feel. Physically, at any rate. She’d rarely seen him in anything other than slacks and dress shirts or suits and ties. Was it appropriate for her to admit she found him terribly fit? Random women had admired him as well, and even though she and Draco weren’t _together_ together, Hermione couldn’t help the tiny bit of satisfaction she felt that they believed her lucky in that regard.  
  
His demeanor had been sanguine and relaxed and reminded her of their time as co-workers and, dare she call it, friends.  
  
Their relationship had kept her on her toes, to be sure. They’d shared several interests across a variety of subject matters and had engaged in many lively debates. Even when they didn’t agree, he presented well thought out and logical arguments. They’d compromised often. Conceding had taken some getting used to, but she was grateful for the personal growth. Then there was one of his many well-kept secrets. His sense of humor. When he refrained from being truly cruel, he was quite funny.  
  
Hermione’s stomach growled into the silence. They’d parted ways before supper and, after the day’s adventure, she found herself famished. Right. Afternoon tea sounded lovely. The shop on the corner had had an assortment of dunking biscuits on special and she’d given in to temptation. A pot of tea and some biscuits would hit the spot and end an already pleasant day on an even higher note.  
  
Stepping into the kitchen, she paused. Something felt wrong, although nothing appeared out of place. With a shrug, she put the kettle on. She took the tin from the top of the fridge and peeled the sticky strip from around the lid. Tea, sugar, milk.  
  
Pulling open another cupboard, she looked, she blinked, she gasped. The tea set was gone. It’d been a wedding gift from one of Arthur’s cousins. It hadn’t been anything special, but she’d enjoyed having a tea set and had looked forward to sharing the tradition with a daughter of her own someday, just as her mother had done with her. And now it was missing. Her stomach sank. Perhaps it was in another cupboard. She flew from cupboard to cupboard, opening and closing doors in rapid fire succession.  
  
But she knew better and there was no question as to where it had gone. Ron had taken it. But why? He never made tea.  
  
She slumped against the counter in defeat. Grief pooled in her lids and ran over the edges and down her cheeks. She flipped off the kettle, rushed to her room, and fell face down on the bed.  
  
Sadness morphed into anger and she cried harder. Not only because of the tea set, but because she was so upset about it in the first place.  
  
Why was she still crying over her marriage? Ron had left and it was over.  
  
So he’d taken the tea set, it was from his family.  
  
Of course, _everything_ was from his family or their friends. Her parents were both only children of only children. She had no aunts, uncles, or cousins. Her parents had been obliviated and sent to Australia before she and Ron had officially become a couple. It’d seemed kinder to leave them in their new life and they hadn’t known their only daughter had gotten married. Her mother hadn’t given Hermione the tea set as she’d planned to someday. Of course, they didn’t even know they had a daughter.  
  
She had no one and nothing that belonged to her.  
  
Sobs shook her until she fell into an exhausted sleep.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Draco hurried down the third floor corridor toward the library. There were several books he needed in preparation for creating new potion lessons for his advanced students. The doors were propped open and the murmur of voices indicated someone was in the library, which was not unusual in and of itself. However, the nature of the voices was definitely wrong.  
  
He rounded the doorway when a voice—one particular _familiar_ voice—reached his ears, followed by a decidedly feminine laugh. His stomach clenched. He took a breath and shook his head. Don’t assume. It could be innocent. He’d shared a joke or two with his fellow professors.  
  
 _You’re not married._  
  
He approached the study area to find Weasel and another auror standing a little too close. The expression on the young lady’s face told Draco everything he needed to know. The urge to bash Ron’s face in forced his hands into the pockets of his robes.  
  
It’d been just under a fortnight since his and Hermione’s trip to London, and her hurt had weighed on his mind even though there was nothing he could do to alleviate it. Despite her outwardly happy persona, he’d caught glimpses of sadness throughout the day. Sometimes a slump of her shoulders, other times a faraway look in her eyes. He’d done his best to give her a moment of space before calling her attention back to the present.  
  
Just before parting ways, she’d thanked him with a true sparkle in her eye. He couldn’t wait to ask her out again, but he couldn’t rush things. If he pushed too hard, she’d shut him down. He’d been given a chance he never expected and one he certainly didn’t deserve, but he wouldn’t risk alienating her.  
  
Ron straightened and serioused up when he spotted Draco. A slight flush filled the gaps between freckles. The young lady’s gaiety dropped from her face like coins down a wishing well.  
  
As head of Slytherin house, Draco had a bit of authority around the castle, not that he threw his weight around anymore.  “Weasley, I take it you have Headmistress McGonagall’s permission to be dilly-dallying around the castle.” He kept his voice neutral, though the other man bristled anyway.  
  
“I’m here on a mission.”  
  
Draco’s eyes flicked to the woman. “Mmm, yes, I can see that. A word, Auror Weasley.” Draco walked back out into the corridor and waited for the weasel to follow.  
  
Ron appeared, looking as though a lemon had exploded in his mouth. “What do you want, Malfoy?”  
  
A thought swirled through Draco’s mind and the heavy oak doors swung shut.  
  
“What you do in private is your business. What you do in public is everyone’s business. Whatever that is…” Draco waved a hand in the direction of the doors and the young lady in the library. “…you need to tell your wife before she hears about it from someone else.”  
  
The weasel’s eyes narrowed. “From you?”  
  
“Not in this lifetime.”  
  
“Then why do you care?”  
  
“Because your wife deserves better than that.” And before he said anything else, he whirled around and disappeared down the corridor.


	5. Chapter 5

Two more weeks dragged by, each marginally easier to endure than the last. She’d found the list of things Ron had taken, including the sodding tea set. Most of it had been personal items and hadn’t had the energy to hold onto her anger over the tea set. He had no way of knowing what it meant to her, although she had no idea why he wanted it. At the end of the day, it was still just a tea set. It had been the shock and circumstance of finding it missing that had upset her more than anything.  
  
 _Tap tap tap._  
  
Hermione sighed and glanced at the window. Her heart sank at the sight of George’s owl.  
  
The creature hooted happily at her approach and she couldn’t help the smile. At least someone was glad to see her. She exchanged his delivery for a small biscuit.  
  
 _We need to talk. Tomorrow, the Three Broomsticks, 10am? Ron_  
  
Dread suddenly sat heavy in her stomach. What on earth could he still have to say? If it was about divvying up their stuff, why didn’t he just say so? For the love of Merlin, he could have it all. She was dreadfully tired of the whole issue. And why the Three Broomsticks? Why was he in Hogsmeade? She rolled her eyes. Well, why else? Some sort of job or mission, though, apparently, not a top secret one.  
  
She was half-tempted to invent another engagement. But she didn’t. He’d get one last audience and then she was done.  
  
~*~*~  
  
The Three Broomsticks hadn’t changed a splinter since their Hogwarts days. A younger version of Madam Rosmerta looked to be the new proprietress.  
  
Hermione nodded at her and glanced around, spotting Ron sitting at a far table and looking as pensive as she felt. If Ron looked anxious, then this couldn’t be good. She shook her head. _No, Hermione, don’t borrow trouble._ His work could be a factor. She pasted on a _pleasant-as-could-be-expected_ expression and joined him.  
  
He rose when he saw her and sat after she’d taken the seat across from him. He’d learned a few manners over the years.  
  
“Would you like something?” he asked, twisting his hands on the scarred table and looking toward the bar.  
  
“Is this going to take long?”  
  
Red crept up his face. “No, not really.”  
  
“Then I’m fine, but thanks for offering. What’s so important we needed to speak face to face?”  
  
He finally met her gaze. “Listen, Hermione…”  
  
She sucked in a breath. She knew that look. She hadn’t seen it in a while, but she recognized it. Coupled with his reticence to just come right out and say whatever needed saying—guilt. Her face froze.  
  
“I met someone.”  
  
“What?” Oh, God. Tears burned her eyes and nose, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry so she blinked them back.  
  
“It was after I… after we… after I left. I swear. I mean she’s not the reason I left. But she—”  
  
She stood and looked long and hard at the most important man in her life for the last seven years.  
  
Things clicked into place.  
  
She knew he’d never cheated during their marriage, just as she knew he was telling her the truth about this woman now, but she also realized that there were things about one another that they didn’t know, that they’d never revealed, whatever the reason. They’d gotten caught up in feelings and family and normalcy after the war and no amount of counseling or sex was going to change that fact.  
  
She didn’t know why Ron had decided to walk away, what epiphanies he’d had, if any. None, probably. He was a simple man who relied on gut instinct and the way he felt, both physically and emotionally, to get through life. Ron could live and be happy without examining the deep recesses of his heart and mind, but she couldn’t, and that, she realized, was the root of it all. It was all the tears she hadn’t cried and all the arguments they’d never had. Even if he didn’t _know_ it, he’d sensed it. And he’d taken the high road, at what cost to himself, to set her free. What could she say or do?  
  
Hermione skirted the table and Ron stood again. She rose on tip toe to kiss his cheek. Then she hugged him. “Be happy, Ron.”  
  
His look of surprise on top of his disbelief almost pulled a smile from her. But the cold hard truth that the demise of her marriage, however unintentional her actions, however unknowing she’d been, was indeed her fault, pained her so deeply that she couldn’t face him one moment longer.  
  
She hurried from the bar before she burst into tears and embarrassed them both terribly.  
  
~*~*~  
  
Draco watched the Three Broomsticks from Spinwitches Quidditch Supplies. He’d kept tabs on Ron since their exchange three days ago and had deduced that he was meeting Hermione this morning. She’d entered a few minutes ago looking as if McGonagall was about to tell her she’d failed her OWLSs. Draco smiled at the thought. He’d never admit it out loud, but she was smarter than h—  
  
Hermione burst from the bar, devastation marring her beautiful countenance. The desire to beat Ron Weasley to a bloody pulp was strong, but the need to be there for Hermione overrode everything else. What the bloody effing hell had the bastard said to her?  
  
He exited the shop at the same time Ron stepped out of the Three Broomsticks and their gazes collided. Draco felt the full weight of Ron’s glare. “I did it, you wanker.”  
  
It took everything inside of Draco to shrug and sneer. He turned and deliberately headed in the opposite direction from Hermione. He ducked down a side street and then rushed through the narrow alley heading back toward the lane to the Shrieking Shack. He had a sneaking suspicion that’s where he’d find her.


	6. Chapter 6

Sniffles and sobs led Draco to Hermione’s crumpled form at the base of a large willow tree. The soul-weary sobs broke his heart. He stopped just outside the curtain of branches and leaves. He’d got this far, but should he intrude? She would hate for him to see her like this, but perhaps if he’d had someone to hold him while he’d cried, he wouldn’t have needed years of counseling. He snorted to himself. No, he would’ve. The whole Voldemort thing had messed his head up but good. The presence of someone who cared about him, however, would have a gone a long way toward making things bearable. Right, then. He slipped between the dangling branches and dropped to his knees beside her.  
  
He situated himself against the tree, then pulled her into his arms. “Hermione, love, I’m here…” _Shite._ Please let her be too overwrought to have caught his slip of the tongue.  
  
“Go away, go away,” she cried, pounding her fists against his chest and pushing away from him.  
  
Wincing, he caught her wrists and gave her a small shake. “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you, so just cry. Get it all out.”  
  
She looked at him through puffy, watery eyes with tears running down her face. Cheeks and chin were splotched red, and traces of clear nasal mucus glistened from her upper lip. He let her see whatever she was going to see. He was weary of hiding his feelings.  
  
Perhaps her better sense had deserted her or she just really needed the cry, but her mouth twisted and a fresh batch of shuddering sobs erupted. She fisted his waistcoat and buried her face in his chest. He held her and rocked her, brushing back the wild strands of hair that had come loose from her hair clip, but he remained quiet. There was nothing he could say, so he didn’t.  
  
Draco was reminded of a night three years ago. They’d been in Venice on a business trip and after three glasses of a particularly fine vintage, Hermione’s tongue had loosened much to his delight. They covered all manner of topics and eventually, with a single tear rolling down each cheek, she’d divulged having suffered a miscarriage some months previously. He’d been surprised of course, but his delight faded. She’d never shared something so personal. She’d accepted his condolences, and then confessed that she’d never told Ron about the baby or the miscarriage and that she was relieved to have lost it. She hadn’t been ready to be a mother. She also confessed her feelings of guilt about all of it and cried in his arms. Secrets were not Hermione’s strong suit and she’d apparently needed to unburden herself. But not to just anyone, he realized. Someone who’d understand the darker side of her nature. Someone who wouldn’t fuss and make her feel worse than she already did, but accept her feelings and decisions as part of her, for better or worse.  
  
Within two months, she’d transferred to a different department. He’d been devastated, but had known it had been for the best. She was married and no matter what she’d revealed to him, she planned on staying that way. He wouldn’t doubt she’d done everything in her power to maker her marriage work, though he wondered what had transpired to bring them to this point. Hermione Granger Weasley sobbing in the arms of Draco Malfoy over the end of her marriage.  
  
After a while, the body-wracking torrent of emotions subsided. She remained awake, but lay quietly in the vee of his legs, her arms crossed over her stomach as if hugging herself. A lingering sniffle broke the silence every now and again until she’d completely relaxed and even those lapsed into nothingness.  
  
Dappled sunlight played along the ground and their bodies as the sun inched past its zenith. They’d been here for a couple of hours at least, and despite the circumstance, he wouldn’t trade them for anything.  
  
“You know, don’t you?” Her rough voice startled him and drew his gaze to her face. She cleared her throat of the lingering tightness.  
  
“I know a lot of things, Hermione, be more specific.” He wanted to touch her, but pressed his hands against the grass. Now that her…episode…was over, she wasn’t his to touch, despite the intimacy of their current position.  
  
“About Ron.”  
  
“I know a lot of things about Ron. Husband, auror, sixth son of Arthur and Molly Wea—”  
  
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “About the other woman.”  
  
“Yes, well… I hardly know anything about that except that he and a colleague were conversing in the Hogwarts library. The young lady in question had that look that young ladies get. I advised him that you should hear it from him rather than someone else. That’s all.”  
  
“How did you happen to be in Hogsmeade today?”  
  
“I live in Hogsmeade,” he said with a shrug.  
  
“Rather convenient,” she said, her tone wry.  
  
“Isn’t it?” Wry was good. As was the deep sigh and placid expression.  
  
“Now what?” She tilted her head back and looked him in the eyes. As always, he was startled by just how dark brown they were. Like dark chocolates or roasted chestnuts. Both of which he adored, much to his mother’s amused delight.  
  
“Whatever you want, Hermione.”  
  
“I’m not ready. I’m not even divorced. I—”  
  
“I’m not asking for anything.“ He couldn’t deny her words stung even though he’d expected them. But he’d waited this long, surely he could wait a few more months or a year or ten. Whatever it took for her to come to terms with her divorce and Ron and even Draco himself. “I am and shall remain, your friend. Always.”


	7. Chapter 7

_Fifteen Months Later_  
  
Hermione looked out the window of Gryffindor Tower and smiled, her heart as light as the snow that floated from clouds so low she could probably touch them if she opened the window. Nothing except her parents’ presence could have made today more perfect. She’d had wedding telegrams from all the Weasleys, including Ron. She’d invited them out of respect and love, but wasn’t surprised that none of them felt right attending except Ginny. She wished otherwise, but understood and refused to be sad about it.  
  
“Hermione, you ready?” asked Ginny, entering the room of the seventh year girls prefect. “Tippy says everything and everyone is ready. Harry will be waiting for us outside the ante-chamber.”  
  
Hermione lifted the skirt of her cream-colored velvet gown so she could turn without stepping on the pooling hem. “Oh, Ginny, you look gorgeous.”  
  
Gryffindor scarlet looked fabulous with her coloring and the glow of her burgeoning pregnancy enhanced her overall beauty.  
  
She laughed. “Harry said he’d marry me all over again. Even Malfoy deigned to compliment me.”  
  
“High praise indeed,” Hermione said and giggled.  
  
“Ugh. As if I care what that prat thinks of me.” Ginny rolled her eyes, but she still smiled. “Now, let’s go. The prat awaits. And just for the record, I still don’t get what you see in him.”  
  
“I know you don’t,” Hermione replied, linking arms with her best friend and heading into the corridor. “But you can’t deny we work…”  
  
“True…more’s the pity.”  
  
The week after Ron’s confession and her meltdown, Hermione visited the Office of Marriage Dissolution and began the surprisingly quick and easy process of filing for divorce. Then she’d visited the Muggle Real Estate Liaison Bureau and was shown a handful of homes and flats. Within a week, she’d moved into a former farm hand house just off the A419 in Gloscestershire with a large kitchen, three small bedrooms, and a garden just her size. Within six months, she’d decorated to suit her, had an eclectic conglomeration of bushes and flowers planted and blooming—or ready to bloom come spring, and found herself a Granger once again. She’d mourned one last time with a glass of Ron’s favorite firewhiskey.  
  
Draco had sent owls every now and again, checking on her. They’d met for coffee at the muggle bookstore a few times, but he’d respected her need for space.  
  
Then one day, she’d been ready to see where her feelings for Draco and his for her would lead. And the rest, as they say, was history.  
  
Together, she and Ginny made their way down the myriad staircases until they reached the main hall. Thank goodness she’d opted for low pumps.  Ginny wore flats for now, but had her own heels to slip into to walk down the aisle.  
  
McGonagall motioned them into the narrow hall that led to the small room where the ceremony was taking place and then took the long way round to join the other guests. Hermione’d never seen the small room before planning the wedding, but Harry remembered it from when he’d been chosen a Tri-Wizard Tournament champion all those years ago and thought it cozy for a Christmas Eve wedding. He’d been quite right. The house elves had decorated it with Scotch pine boughs, sprigs of red berries, and cream colored bows shot through with gold. A low fire would cast a welcoming glow and warm the stone room.  
  
Harry waited in a dark gray morning coat and top hat. He kissed Ginny and murmured in her ear. She blushed. Hermione hoped that she and Draco would have that kind of magic after eight years. No—there was no hoping needed. The last eight months with him had been full of magic and there was no reason to doubt the rest of their lives wouldn’t be the same.  
  
Ginny handed Hermione her bouquet of scarlet roses and picked up her own smaller cluster of creamy white roses. Hermione took Harry’s arm and they stepped  to the side.  
  
Two house elves, wearing scarlet and cream plaid sashes, opened the doors. Music started playing and Ginny stepped into the room and descended the small staircase. Once she’d taken her place, the music shifted to _The Prince of Denmark’s March_. The attendees turned toward the doors and Harry and Hermione began the short procession towards Draco.  
  
His glittering gaze met hers and held it for the duration of her walk. The adoring expression took her breath away and Hermione was quite glad she had Harry to guide her, because her own giddiness left her light headed and her focus on her husband-to-be meant she had eyes for nothing but him.  
  
Harry placed Hermione’s hand in Draco’s and took a position next to Ginny. Theodore Nott stood as Draco’s best man. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy also stood with their son and as headmistress, McGonagall bridged the gap. Dumbledore watched smilingly from a frame.  
  
“Dearly beloved,” said the Ministry’s wedding official, “we are gathered here today to join Hermione Jean Granger and Draco Lucius Malfoy in holy matrimony. If anyone has just cause why these two consenting parties should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”  
  
Vows were exchanged and blessings were bestowed and before long, the Ministry official said, “You may now kiss the bride.”  
  
“The moment I’ve been waiting all day for,” murmured Draco. Everyone chuckled.  
  
Closing the distance, he pressed his mouth to hers and swept the tip of his tongue along her lower lip before catching it between his own. Hermione let out a groan and gripped his robe to pull him closer. The kiss deepened, Hermione yielding to Draco’s hunger with a tiny breath. Her hands slid from Draco's chest to clasp around his neck.  
  
A polite throat clearing brought the kiss to an end, though Draco rested his forehead against hers, embers of desire burning in their silver depths.  
  
The honeymoon couldn’t start soon enough.

~ Fin ~


End file.
